Rebound
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: A distraught Mark is found drunk and lonely at the bar by one charming and Southern young man named Harvey Mackenzie. Based on RP with ImDefyinGravity. Mark/OC preslash, mentions of past Mark/Roger Marker. Oneshot.


**A/N: **So hey, I'm back NOT with chapters of all the chaptered fics I know people are reading but instead with plotbunnies and OCs and requests from my dearest friends. Sorry! That's just how it rolls, lately. Anyways, you'll recognize this one, it's Harvey- my first ever OC!- and Mark, when they first meet. This is dedicated to Inky! (: MARVEY FOR THE WIN.

Disclaimer: _RENT no mine. Mark no mine. Harvey yes mine._

MARVEYMARVEYMARVEY

Mark wasn't sure when exactly the grinning man in blue beside him had gotten so close, but he was tipsy enough that all he did was smile uneasily back, allowing the stranger to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"How're you doin', partner? You look a little down," he asked him, more softly than Mark had anticipated. The accent threw him off as well, but he had already had one too many drinks- _or maybe five_, his mind whispered guiltily- with money he didn't even really have so it was hard to question anything at the moment. Plus, it wasn't as though Southern accents were unattractive.

"M'fine," he heard himself mumble, looking down. His face, already tinted pink with intoxication, flushed even brighter but he wasn't sure if, in the strobe lights and surrounded by a sea of moving bodies, the other man would even notice.

"Y'don't look it, hon," said the man sympathetically. He took a seat on the stool next to Mark's and scooted perhaps a little too close, but he looked sincere. Honest, at least- something Roger never was, he thought bitterly. Honest and attractive-

He blinked and bit his lip. Attractive? What, was he rebounding already?

But it wasn't _wrong_- the guy was to say the least handsome. Short dirty blonde hair and thick, black-framed glasses that gave him an endearing geeky look- was that what Maureen was always saying she saw in him, way back when? Maybe…- and a plain blue shirt with a collar and everything, jeans just a little too tight for him to be entirely straight-

Shaking his head, he internally scowled at himself. (and maybe a little on the outside too, he was drunk after all) _Get a hold of yourself Cohen. Just because you don't like vagina doesn't mean every guy you meet in a bar feels the same._

When he looked back up, though, the cute guy with the accent was still sitting there, eyebrow raised slightly. His lips were quirked in the most adorable little half-smile that didn't remind him of Roger at all and God, that was a relief. Everything was reminding him of Roger. "No really, I- hon?" stammering, he backtracked with widening eyes, staring at the man in mild disbelief. "I- did you actua- no, I'm drunk… I should go home." Sighing, depression washing over him again, Mark buried his face in his arms on the bar and choked back the tears.

If he cried in front of a stranger, he would never forgive himself. Mark Cohen did not _cry,_ not over anything. And especially not Roger fucking Davis.

He felt large, warm hands rubbing soothingly at his shoulder and without thinking relaxed under them. It had been far too long since someone other than Roger touched him like this. April was never touchy, not with him especially, and Maureen had left him. Joanne would rip him a new one if he ever let her touch him like this again. No, this was a Roger sort of job and he hated himself for thinking of it that way. Concentrating very hard on the task, he pushed all thoughts of the guitarist out of his mind and leaned slightly back into the southern man's hands, sighing quietly.

"That feel good, sweetheart?" A low murmur right by his ear. He forces himself not to shiver. _My God_, an accent like that could very easily turn straight men gay. He wasn't entirely sure whether or not the other man, still nameless, meant to be seducing him but he was doing a fine job of it either way.

"Yeah. Th-thanks…" Mark swallows, still trying to catch up with his brain as his… nether regions start to perk up in interest. He sits up abruptly, but the blue-clad man doesn't remove his hands, just presses his chest up to his back and gives him a half hug around the waist, sliding his hands around to his hips.

"No problem. Name's Harvey." The filmmaker turned just in time to catch the cute little grin on his face and he blushed, if possible, a more violent shade of red. _Shit. He's sweet, he's cute and he's sexy. All at once. It isn't fair._"Mackenzie. Harvey Mackenzie."

And normally in a situation like this he would think of Roger, think of his boyfriend- _not anymore-_ waiting on him at home with open arms and those plaid pajama pants that would quickly come off-

_Mind. Out. Of. The fucking gutter._

Well, he couldn't think of Roger now. He didn't want to. Why should he? In fact- a sudden, impulsive burst of determination overtook him and he hopped off the stool, twisting in Harvey's grip to get him to release him before grabbing his hand and before he knows what he's doing and shaking it firmly, staring up into his eyes.

"Mark Cohen." And he let a smile creep onto his face. Whether it was suggestive or not, Harvey looked both surprised and pleased. He took the handshake in stride, his grip making Mark weak in the knees, and shifted subtly closer. A spark seemed to ignite between them, eyes searching Mark's for any traces of doubt, but there were none.

Roger could go fuck himself. He needed new. He needed someone, anyone who wasn't Roger.

He'd show him.

And whether or not the alcohol was affecting his logic, he was going home with Harvey tonight and having _fun._ Not moping because Roger decided that things 'weren't working out'.

"So, Mark. Wana tell me what you were so upset about over a drink? It's on me." Another crooked grin. He felt like he should be swooning, now, and without fully intending too he's gotten closer until they're less than a foot away from each other. His heart was beating wildly in excitement as it hadn't in months, the promise of a new romance refreshing and exhilarating.

"No… I mean. I guess. A drink wouldn't be bad." He doesn't stutter at all, and a glow of pride starts in his gut, spreading outward until his entire body is tingling. Harvey hasn't let go of his hand yet, stroking his thumb slowly over the back of it in the universal gesture of interest.

_This is happening. Oh, God. This is happening…_

But there's no way he's backing out of this now. Besides, he likes the guy and he figures that maybe, maybe this will be the one time a one night stand turns out for the best.

"Sounds good. I've got ya, hon, don't you worry," he teased lightly, not daring to press a kiss to Mark's lips lightly like it looks like he wants to.

Harvey slings an arm around his shoulders after a moment and leads him down to the other, emptier end of the bar, spouting off something about a new camera and his photography classes in college. Mark perked up considerably, heart pounding even harder than it had been when he thought this was just some random, meaningless stranger hitting on him.

_Perfect. Perfect. Why is this perfect man interested in me?_

He leaned into him. Harvey paused for a moment as if to absorb this and then, grinning even wider with his gorgeous blue eyes dancing happily, pulls him closer and continues with his story.

"So this girl- she had to have been the only one in the entire school that didn't know I was flaming- was trying to flirt with me and ended up _dropping_ it…" Laughing, he nodded, tuning in to listen.

And Mark lets himself believe that everything will turn out okay.

With Harvey's arm around him, a stranger turned into a friend, it's easy to believe.


End file.
